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Lunchtime at The Phoenix. I have been disagreeing — loudly, stubbornly,
petulantly — with the man behind the bar of this fine Dundee establishment
for the best part of 32 years. This week has been no different.

We have disagreed over boyfriends, typically decried as “hairy-arsed warriors”
and banned from the house. Over his bold wardrobe choices — tartan bunnets
and tweed coats should never be worn together. Ever.

Over my vegetarianism — “daftness” according to the man whose inexplicable
love of bullfighting led to a Spanish taxidermist shipping over the head of
a particularly courageous beast he once saw being killed in Córdoba.